


Letter

by imagineteamfreewill



Series: Making Promises [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Winchester is Reader's Parent, Other, Sam is an uncle, the reader wants to hunt but dean doesn't want her to
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-14 04:16:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17501402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imagineteamfreewill/pseuds/imagineteamfreewill
Summary: Now that you’re going to be living with Dean, it’s time that you met more of the people you’ll be calling your family. You also need to make some decisions about your future, but challenging your father isn’t always easy.





	Letter

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on my tumblr account of the same name on November 26th, 2014 and edited on June 11th, 2017.

You followed Dean across the country for days, eventually ending up in Lebanon, Kansas. Along the way, the two of you stayed at cheap motels and discovered that you had a lot more in common than you’d originally expected. People had always told you that you were just like your mother, and you’d assumed that meant that you’d have nothing in common with Dean.

Sometimes when you stopped, Dean would go out to the bar in town, but you realized that he wasn’t drinking as much as he normally would because of you. After all, Thomas had been a drunk. You’d had enough experience with drunks, and you didn’t want any more. So, Dean only drank a few times on the way back to your new home. He never came back to the motel drunk, however, and for that you were grateful.

He taught you a lot as well. Dean always used different names when getting the motel room, and when you confronted him about this—accusing him of lying—he’d explained that as a hunter, he needed to use fake names. A small part of you got excited when you heard this. It seemed thrilling to have fake IDs and fake badges, but when you remembered the promise you’d made to Dean about not hunting, you realized that you would never be able to tell him how exciting it all seemed to you.

* * *

When you arrived in Kansas, you were surprised to find that your new home was not much of a home at all. In fact, it wasn’t even a house.

“An underground bunker?” you asked, incredulous. “You want me to live in a  _bunker?_  Like a  _soldier?”_  You shook your head hard, crossing your arms over your chest. Dean spread his hands out in front of him, looking a little bit helpless, then gave you a pleading look. It was getting dark out, and it looked like it was going to rain. He didn’t want to be stuck outside when it started downpouring. You had to admit that you didn’t want to either, but you didn’t want to be the one to lose this argument.

“Look, Y/N. It looks awful, I know. But give it a chance. It’s not that bad on the inside,” he pleaded. “Let’s just go inside for the time being, and then if you don’t like it we’ll figure something else out. It’s the safest place in the world, how bad do you think it’s gonna be?”

You considered this for a moment, then sighed walked to your car, opening up the trunk and pulling out the two small bags that you’d been living out of for the past few weeks. Dean was grinning from ear to ear when you looked up, and he hurried over to take the bags from you.

Following him through the large outer door, you found yourself descending the winding stairs in darkness as Dean tried to get the second door open. When he finally got it open, you stepped inside the bright room and gasped. Before you was the exact opposite of what you’d expected— hardwood floors, walls of computers, dark wood tables, and decorative lamps made the underground bunker seem more like a fancy hotel than military housing. Spiraling off the library and the entryway were as many hallways as you had fingers and toes, and there were dozens of bookshelves bursting with books just past the first doorway. At the far end of the library there stood an enormous telescope, and you couldn’t help but wonder if it was somehow rigged to allow you to see the stars, despite being underground.

“Holy cow…” you murmured, running your hand over the iron railing that led down the stairs. Behind you, Dean chuckled and pushed his way past you.

“Sammy!” he called. His voice echoed against the tile walls, and after a moment, a taller man with shaggy brown hair walked in from one of the adjoining hallways and began to say something. He stopped when he saw you.

“Dean, who is this?” he asked, his voice steady and his wary eyes trained on you. Dean didn’t answer right away, instead choosing to climb the stairs. When he reached the bottom, he clapped his hand on Sam’s back and dump your bags on the floor. He gestured to you with one long arm, smiling from ear to ear.

“This, Sam, is my daughter.” His smile never faltered for a moment, and you could see how happy Dean was that you even existed. The thought made your heart feel tight in your chest, and you couldn’t help but smile shyly in return.

“Daughter?” Sam choked out. “What? Who’s her mom?” Dean’s smile grew even wider, if that was even possible.

“Jennifer.” Dean’s voice suddenly sounded different than all of your earlier conversations, almost reverent.

Your uncle’s eyes widened and he asked, “Jennifer?  _The_  Jennifer?” The shorter Winchester nodded in reply.

“Um, I’m still here,” you interrupted, clearing your throat a little. The two brothers looked up, expressions of surprise on their faces as you pulled them from their conversation. Dean cleared his throat.

“Right. Sam, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is your Uncle Sam.”

You snickered. “God bless America” you mumbled under your breath. Dean held back his own laugh after hearing your quiet comment, and Sam looked at the two of you quizzically.

“Well, come on, Y/N. Let’s get you settled in.” Your dad picked up your two bags from where they sat next to him on the floor. He motioned to you, swinging the duffel bag towards a hallway on the other side of the room. You walked down the staircase and passed through the big library, trying to keep yourself from stopping and grabbing book after book. Dean had already gone partway down the hall when you reached the open doorway, so you quickened your pace to catch up. He stopped in front of a closed door with the brass number seventeen on it.

“Here you go,” he sighed, setting your bags down once more. “Room Seventeen.”

“One number for each year,” you murmured. Dean shifted his weight uncomfortably and put his hand on your shoulder.

“Right. Well, I’ll leave you to unpack.” With that, he left you standing in the hallway, the only sound being his retreating, and even that was gone after a few moments.

Reluctantly, you pushed the door open, somewhat expecting it to creak open slowly with a haunted noise. It didn’t, and you grabbed your bags and dragged them over the threshold.

* * *

An hour later you had organized your meager belongings around your room. Clothes went into the closet, toothbrush to the small bathroom, picture frame on the desk. Everything was in order.

“Except that lamp,” you sighed, pointing to the small glass lamp sitting on your new bedside table. Chewing on your lip, you walked over and picked it up, then stood in the center of the bedroom. Your eyes scanned the assorted furniture in your room, trying to decide where to place it.

“Hello, Y/N.”

Startled, you dropped the lamp. The glass shattered, leaving cuts on your bare feet. You winced in pain, your heart still pounding in your chest. Blood dribbled from the dozens of minuscule cuts, turning your skin red in only moments.

“You’re hurt.” You turned, slowly, to see a man in a long tan trench coat standing in your doorway. He was shorter than both your father and your uncle, and his bright blue eyes stood out against his dull clothing and dark hair.

“Who are you?” you asked. You kept your voice hard and calm as you reached around yourself and grabbed the small silver knife from the sheath hanging from your belt. Dean had bought it for you when you mentioned keeping the knife in your boot, which he had said was unsafe. You’d caught him doing the same thing, though, but you kept your mouth shut.

Pointing the knife at the man, you stepped over the glass and stopped when you were close enough to be a threat, yet still far enough away where you could step away easily if he tried to hurt you. The man still hadn’t answered, and you ground your teeth together in frustration.

“Who are you?” you repeated, practically spitting out each word.

Without a word, the man reached up and moved the knife from underneath his chin. He quickly placed two fingers on your forehead, and a slow warmth trailed from that spot all the way down to your bleeding toes. You smacked his arm away and stepped back from him.

“You are healed now,” the man said, his voice calm and even. Hesitantly, you looked down at your feet. To your surprise, the skin was completely healed, and even the small scar you’d gotten as a child had disappeared.

“What the hell?” you screeched. The sound of footsteps resonated down the hall, and Sam and Dean were standing behind the man in your doorway after a minute, both of them holding guns.

“What’s going on?” Dean questioned. “Are you okay?” His face was set into an expression you hadn’t seen before. It was fierce, and quite frankly, terrifying.

The man in the doorway slid a long silver blade from his coat sleeve into his hand and raised it, ready to attack. You raised your own knife and swiped it at him.

Soon the room was in chaos.

You were trying your best to get rid of the terrifying stranger, but Sam and Dean were shouting at you and trying to pull you away from him. Occasionally they yelled at the other man to leave, but just like before, he didn’t heed anyone’s directions.

Your knife flicked and ran along the man’s exposed skin, but no cut appeared. Startled, you stumbled back and the man took that opportunity to lay his fingers once again on your forehead. In that instant, you fell into unconsciousness.

* * *

 

When you opened your eyes, you were laying on a bed.

“She’s awake,” someone whispered. Your memory clicked into place after a second, and you recognized it as Dean. Trying to sit up, you slowed when he placed a hand on your arm.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he said, his voice soft and soothing. “Steady now, go slowly.” You sat up, letting him place a hand on your back to support you. Reaching behind you, Dean fluffed up the pillow you’d been using to give you something to rest against.

“You good?” he asked. Nodding, you ignored his instructions to lay back, instead choosing to flip your legs over the side of the bed and sit up. You looked around the room, realizing after a moment that the remains of the lamp were gone.

“I thought you said this place was hidden,” you said. “That’s what you said earlier. If it’s so hidden, how did that… That  _monster_  get in my room?”

“It is,” Dean replied. “But not to Cas.”

“Cas? Is that his name?”  Dean nodded after a long pause. “Who, or what, is he?” you asked. 

Dean looked down and thought for a moment. “Cas, or Castiel, is an angel. He’s not a monster,” he finally answered.

You snorted. “Right, okay.” Dean raised an eyebrow at you, but other than that he remained silent. His gaze was firm, and you let out a little nervous laugh when you realized he wasn’t going to tell you he was just kidding.

“Wait, are you _serious?_  Angels are real?” you asked.

He nodded, then paused. “Is it so hard to believe that angels are real when you can easily take in the fact that vampires and ghosts are?”

Before you could reply, however, there was a knock on your door.

“Come in,” you called, instead of replying to his question.

Sam entered with Cas, the angel, right on his heels. Your uncle stood like an awkward chaperone, but Cas came immediately towards you. Standing up, you reached out to shake his hand. He took it in his and smiled.

“Y/N,” he said. You nodded. “I am sorry about earlier, but you would have harmed yourself.”

You were confused until you realized he was the one who had knocked you unconscious.

“How did you do that?” you asked. If you could learn to do that, you’d be  _golden._

Before the angel could answer, Dean responded. “Grace.  _His_  grace, to be exact. Every angel’s got it. They can heal, fight, and fly people and themselves from one place to another.” You could feel him glaring at Cas from behind you. “Which I wouldn’t recommend.”

The eldest Winchester stood up from the chair he’d been sitting in and stretched leisurely, sighing. “Come on, Y/N. We need to register you for high school.”

You groaned and Sam smirked. High school was your worst enemy, and you’d have to face it once more.

“Are you sure I can’t just hunt with you guys?” you asked, somewhat timid.

Sam stood up a bit straighter, clearly liking that idea.

“Yeah, Dean. I’m sure with all the training she’s been doing she could definitely—” he began.

“No. Y/N’s not hunting, not if I can help it.” Dean grabbed your wrist lightly and tugged, not so much that it hurt, but enough to get you moving. You stumbled forward and regained your balance, then wound your way out of the bunker.

* * *

 

At the school, Dean registered you with the office. Happiness bloomed inside you when he said you were his daughter. You could see a proud smile on his face, and you were so distracted thinking about your new life—your new family—that you didn’t hear the woman ask you a question.

“Y/N,” your father said, nudging you back into reality.

“Huh?”

“What classes would you like to take?” the secretary questioned. Her hand was held out over her desk, an orange piece of paper in it. You took the paper and quickly scanned it.

“Latin, Outdoor Survival, Mythology,” you listed off, along with several other classes. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Dean Winchester’s smile fade into a stormy expression. For the rest of the meeting, he didn’t meet your eyes, but he grudgingly signed the forms.

Afterward, the two of you left the building and got into the Impala. Dean started the engine and soon you were on your way back to the bunker.

The silence grew louder.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” you finally asked. Dean shook his head. You could feel the anger radiating off of him.

He pulled up to the bunker and shut off the car, slamming his door enough that the whole car rocked. You opened your own door and followed him inside the bunker, keeping your distance.

When you finally grew brave enough to face him again, Dean was waiting for you, pacing the library floor. Sam was sitting at one of the long wooden tables, watching him. Your father saw you once you had reached the entryway and exploded.

“What are you thinking?” he yelled.

You flinched, but quickly regained your composure. “I was thinking that I wanted to take those classes,” you grumbled, trying to keep your cool.

Dean paused for a moment, then jabbed his finger at you. “The deal was that you live a normal life! You were supposed to take normal classes like… like English and Cooking. And Math! You should’ve signed up for math!” Dean’s voice kept getting louder and louder, and you could feel the tears pricking your eyes. Sam watched the two of you from his seat.

“That wasn’t the deal!” you shouted. Your voice cracked. “The deal was that I go to school and not hunt. I’m not hunting!”

Your uncle slowly got to his feet and put himself between yourself and Dean. “Look, Dean,” he said calmly. “She’s right. She’s just taking classes that—”

For the second time today, your dad cut him off.  _“Don’t,”_ he pushed his finger into Sam’s chest, emphasizing the word.  _“Don’t_  tell me how to raise my daughter. I practically raised you.” Sam’s hand twitched at his side, and you could tell that this was a soft spot between them.

“You were gone for  _seventeen years,_ Dean! Who says you have a right to tell me what to do, let alone what classes to take?” you screamed.

You were done arguing and fighting, and tears flowed down your face, young anger freeing them from your eyes. You pushed past the brothers, causing papers to float from the table onto the floor. Running to your room, you slammed the door and leaped onto your bed.

There was a pile of gift bags at the end of the neatly made mattress, and you hesitantly grabbed one and looked inside. Resting inside the glossy pink bag was a fuzzy brown blanket, and you pulled it out with a tiny smile, reveling in its softness. Curiously, you let the bag fall from your lap as you set the blanket next to you and grabbed another bag. Inside was a stuffed polar bear. You smiled and pulled it out, giving it a hug before placing it on the blanket. Your tears had dried by now, replaced by a smile that grew bigger with each bag you opened.

At the bottom of the pile, there was a small jewelry box and an envelope. You opened the envelope first, reading the letter it contained out loud. Your voice shook as you began, but as you read further it grew stronger.

_Dear Y/N,_

_Right now you’re asleep in your motel bed, but I can’t help but think that this isn’t the life I want for you. If I had known about you earlier, I would have wanted you to stay with your mother. Knowing about me is dangerous enough. Being with me is even worse. A small part of me is glad that neither of us knew the other existed. At least that way you were in less danger. I don’t want you to be a hunter, Y/N, because it’s dangerous. I’ve already lost so much, so many people I care about, and I don’t want to lose you too. I want you, my daughter, to stay safe. I want to give you the life I didn’t have. You should go to high school and graduate, go to college, go on dates, make friends, and if you ever fall in love, marry. Of course, you’ll have to get permission from me, but hopefully, that’s a long way off. I know I seem tough and not cut out for this whole parenting thing, and I guess in truth I am—I don’t know anything about kids, let alone teenage girls. You’re gonna have to cut me a lot of slack, Y/N. I’m not sure I’m ready to do this, but I’ll give it a shot if you will._

_Your father,_

_Dean_

You sniffled, the tears having returned. These were different tears; they were happy tears. Your argument with Dean had made you think that he didn’t want you and that he was being strict just for the sake of being strict. Now you knew that he was just as confused on what a real father did as you were.

Setting the paper down, you picked up the little jewelry box and carefully pulled off the lid. Inside, resting on the little piece of foam, was a silver charm bracelet with several charms already hanging from its links. You recognized a few of them from your hunting training. Tiny anti-possession symbols were lined up in a neat row, along with a small silver blade. Interspersed between them were empty links, ready to be filled with their own charms. You quickly slipped the bracelet on and stood up. A pair of wine-colored mittens fell off your lap, but you didn’t stop to pick them up. Instead, you flung open your door and tore down the hall. You ran into the library to find your father sitting at the table with his head in his hands. Sam was long gone.

“What have I done?” you heard him murmur. “Now she’ll hate me.

Suppressing a small smile, you said, “No I won’t.”

Dean’s head jerked up. His eyes landed on you after a moment.

“What did you say?” he asked. Standing up, he walked a few steps towards you, then stopped.

“I said I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t hate you, and I’m never going to,” you repeated. You held out your wrist, the silver bracelet glinting in the light. Dean’s eyes glimmered with unshed tears, and you smiled a little when he closed the distance between the two of you and pulled you into a tight hug. One of his hands cupped the back of your head as he held you close, and you knew deep down that this is where you were meant to be.


End file.
